


Even Love Can Die

by getoffmybarricade



Category: Les Miserables
Genre: Angst, Enjolras Has Feelings, Grantaire is a dick, IM SORRY OKAY, Implied/Referenced Depression, Les Amis de l’ABC, M/M, Modern AU, Sad, Suicide, Weddings, although that’s probably not a good thing, mental health, unrequited enjolras/grantaire - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22204570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getoffmybarricade/pseuds/getoffmybarricade
Summary: “I’m sorry, what?”“You heard me.”“Yes. I know.” Enjolras replied dangerously, his voice low and quiet, “I’m giving you a chance to take it back.”
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac, Enjolras/Grantaire
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

“-and if you want this as much as any of us do, you’ll meet us in the city square next month. It’s time to do something.” 

He finished his speech slightly light-headed from the lack of breathing he’d been doing whilst speaking. Enjolras stepped down of the table and took a deep breath, glancing up at the clock on the wall. It was late and he was exhausted. 

Endless nights of restless sleep really wasn’t doing him any favours. 

He stifled a yawn, trying his best to dodge his friends as they called out to him. He felt bad, really he did, but he wanted more than anything else to get home and let his mind rest of a few hours at the least. 

As he approached the table that Combeferre and Courfeyrac were stood at, handing out flyers and giving details to newcomers, they looked up and their faces split into wide grins. 

However Ferre’s smile seemed to falter as he took in Enjolras’s exhausted state, immediately rushing to his side. Courfeyrac, meanwhile, had turned away a few seconds ago, directing a woman to the city square for future reference. As she left, he called over his shoulder, 

“Hey Enj, are you coming back to mine and Ferre’s apartment?” 

When he didn’t answer he turned around, his eyes growing wide with concern. 

“Woah, you okay?” 

Enjolras started to nod, not wanting to concern his friends who already did so much for him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to lie. So instead he shook his head a little, leaning heavier into Combeferre’s side. 

“If it’s getting bad again-“ Courfeyrac began, his eyes sliding over to Combeferre’s for a second. Enjolras shook his head again, willing them both to be quite. 

“It’s not...no, it’s not like last time. I’m just not sure if the meds are working at the moment.” 

“Enjolras, they should be. If they’re not then you really need to ring Dr Valjean again.” 

“It’s fine, really. I shouldn’t have said anything I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m just so fucking tired, that’s all.” 

Combeferre fixed him with one of those special doctor looks he so often used. Like he was staring straight through his soul, looking deep into his secrets. 

“You’re still clean, right?” He said, voice dropping to barely more than a whisper. 

_No_. 

“Yes.” He answered to quickly, too abruptly and Combeferre frowned, Courfeyrac raising eyebrow. 

“Enjolras-“

“Alright, fine! No. Happy now?” 

His friends shared a look, one Enjolras knew to be of suspicion, and they started to say something but he cut them off quickly. 

“I’m gonna go home. I’ll ring you tomorrow, alright?”

As he turned to leave he heard Combeferre call out again. 

“Enjolras?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Just look after yourself, okay?” 

He nodded, halfway to the door when he heard another voice cut through the light chatter that had begun to rise. 

“Surely you’re not leaving us so soon? You know, with the revolution so close?” 

Without having to look around he knew exactly who the speaker was. 

“I never said a thing about a revolution. I’m tired, I’m going home.” 

“Yeah,” Grantaire scoffed, “yeah I’m really seeing the perseverance and passion coming through here. Don’t we have plans to make?” 

“Grantaire, I’m not arguing with you now. If you’ve got a problem then message me tomorrow. Please just-“

“-a problem? Your delusional, fucking saviour self is the problem, Enjolras.” 

He winced at that, screwing his eyes closed but still not looking over at him. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to cope with the utter look of cynicism he’d see there. 

“We’re trying, Grantaire. There’s a rally next month, you know this, and we’re going to show them that-“

“You don’t really believe that?” 

Enjolras stopped, his stomach turning over.

He turned his head to see the other man who had rose from his seat in the corner. His messy dark curls were hanging loosely by his jaw, green velvety eyes full of sarcasm and disbelief. He held a half empty bottle of wine in his left hand and rested his right on the small wooden table, a grin of mockery stretching out on his face. Grantaire shrugged under Enjolras’ cold stare but didn’t make any attempt to back down.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard me.”

“Yes. I know.” Enjolras replied dangerously, his voice low and quiet, “I’m giving you a chance to take it back.”

Grantaire merely opened his arms as if to confirm his statement and Enjolras felt a burning anger rising up inside of him, consuming him. He clenched his jaw and moved over towards where he was stood, glaring up at him. He was shorter than Grantaire, but quite possibly stronger, and although he was not a man of a violent nature, he was ready to fight if needed.

“It’s bullshit, Apollo.” Grantaire hissed.

“Don’t call me that.”

The stupid nickname was irritating as it was, he didn’t need it now. He was struggling with enough at the moment and it wasn’t going to take much to push him over the edge.

“Why not, oh Fearless Leader?”

“Becaus e  i’m not a fucking _God_!”

Enjolras almost shouted, tired of being compared to some long ago God that was nothing to do with him. He wasn’t perfect-and he shouldn’t have to be-but being referred to as the God-like figure required him to be strong, incapable of cracking.

And in reality, he wasn’t. He was barely holding onto the edge, ready to fall, and he was afraid that it was going to become too much too soon and it would all come crashing down.

“Well, you act like it!” Grantaire shouted back, his voice dripping with anger.

“You come in here, strutting around like you’re the main character in whatever fucking  _film_ you think your life is. Well guess what,  _Apollo_? You’re not! You’re just another bastard that I used to think could make a change to this hell of a world we live in. You can’t! The world doesn’t _want_ to be changed! Look at history; it’s a cycle of pain and suffering and people, oh they try to do something about it, but they never try enough.   


And you know why that is? Because it’s futile! It’s stupid! You talk complete bullshit and you must be absolutely fucking  _delusiona_ l  if you think any of us actually _believe_ what you’re saying. We’re here because at first we thought you knew what you were doing, but you don’t! And we can’t leave because we’re tied to you and your fucking Cause that nobody gives a shit about anymore. When are you going to realise it’s all pretend? You’re no better than any of us.” 

And in less than a minute, Enjolras felt his entire world shatter to pieces in front of his very eyes; saw everything that he had ever believed in turn to dust. He knew, he  _ knew _ , that his friends cared. He knew Ferre, Courf, Jehan...he knew that they wanted to make a change just as well as him. But at the same time there was that nagging feeling in the back of his mind. The one that whispered things in his mind late at night, told him he wasn’t worth resisting his mind. 

_Give up_ ,  it said,  _ stop burdening your friends.  _

If nobody in the room had faith in him, had trust in him, then everything he worked for was useless. Worthless. 

_ He  _ was worthless. 

All he wanted to do was make a change. And if he couldn’t do that, what was his purpose? He was out of the room in a flash, so quickly that he didn’t have time to hear the bomb that exploded as he disappeared. 

~~~~~

Grantaire swallowed hard, tugging on the ends of his hair. 

He hadn’t meant to be so harsh. 

Fuck, harsh was an understatement. He had just ruined Enjolras’s entire day, his ideas. He’d argued with him so many times, they’d both spat vicious truths at each other across tables and under their breaths so many times. But this...this was different. 

He’d never seen that look in Enjolras’s eyes. That defeat and uncertainty. 

The...the look of absolute despair. 

And because of his own lies, and just because he was too afraid to see the world-however unjust it was-he knew change. His friends, who he knew believed in what Enjolras said, dropped their anger and shame upon him like a bomb, hurtful comments that tore him apart with guilt, but he knew he deserved them. 

But he knew that he needed to find Enjolras right now. 

How could he have done this? How could he have been so wrapped up in his own hatred that he let it destroy the man he loved the most? He didn’t deserve Enjolras, no one did. He was too passionate and selfless for this cruel world, too naive. 

“You fucking idiot!” Courfeyrac growled, his dark eyes narrowed. He had crossed the room without Grantaire even noticing, stood glaring up at him with this hatred in his eyes that he’d never seen there. He barely had time to even register that before Courfeyrac’s fist connected with the side of his face. He stumbled backwards, his back smashing into a table. “Are you aware of how fucking unstable Enjolras is? Fuck, Ferre, we need to find him.” He turned to Combeferre, who was already collecting his and Courf’s coats, half headed out the door. 

“What?” He blabbed, tears blurring just vision. “But he’s  _Enjolras_.  He’s-“

“-depressed?” Courfeyrac hissed, his face within inches of his own, “suicidal?” 

And then he stalked off after Combeferre, the door slamming shut after him. 

“I didn’t-“ he stammered, his head spinning. 

Enjolras? Suicidal? 

He couldn’t make sense of it. He was the leader; strong, brilliant...perfect. He couldn’t fathom how somebody like Enjolras could be so unhappy, so full of self-hatred that he wanted to end everything. 

And then he realised that people like himself were the reason he felt that way. Constantly spitting on his ideals, breaking holes into everything he worked for. Everything he  _ believed  _ in. 

And the sad thing was, even when people like himself kept hurting him, Enjolras would still fight for them. He would still fight for Grantaire. Even if he shouted, screamed and yelled at him. He wouldn’t back down. 

“Save it, Grantaire.” Jehan said darkly, his fists clenched so hard that his knuckles were white. “I’d tell you to go find him but you’re probably the last person he’d want to see.” 

“No. No I need to find him. I need to make sure he’s okay.” He stumbled from the Musain, his heart so full of dread that he couldn’t even focus on where he was going. 

~~~~~~~ 

The cold wind blew viciously over the bridge, and the small silhouette of a man could be seen standing right at the edge. His golden curls were being blown across his tear-stained cheeks, and his blue eyes were filled with despair, his shoulders shaking and slumped. 

Defeated. 

Enjolras knew he could go no further now. With nothing left to believe in, there was no reason for him to attempt to battle his way through the hardships life threw at him, no reason for him to try. 

He let out another cry of pain and sorrow before gripping hold of the cold metal railings of the bridge, an empty hole where all his passion had once burned. It was cruel, he thought, how one comment could turn a life upside down, make someone question their very existence and place in the world. 

The fact that nobody had even disagreed with Grantaire made it all seem so much worse. How he deserved nothing because he couldn’t even get his fucking  _friends_ to listen to what he was saying. 

His dark thoughts were interrupted by a strangled cry behind him. 

“Enjolras, please! Don’t do this-please! It wasn’t real, I promise, non of the others believe that!” 

“But do you?” 

Enjolras’s voice was small and broken amongst the sound of the city streets. It was the voice of a man who had lost all control of everything he stood for. It wasn’t the strong, crowd-turning voice that belonged to him. His voice should be loud and full of the glory that made him stand out, made people listen to him. Not like this. 

“Enjolras-“ 

“-Do you?” 

Silence. 

Other than the howl of the winds and the noise of the traffic, no one spoke. No one moved. 

“I don’t know.” Came Grantaire’s broken response. Enjolras went numb. Grantaire wasn’t lying then, he had crushed everything Enjolras knew-whether he intended to or not-and there was a price to pay for it. 

He stepped backwards, away from the railing, and wrapped the darker haired man in a tight embrace, his damaged heart shattering into a thousand pieces. 

“Why would you ever think about doing this?” Grantaire whispered softly, a hand wrapping itself in Enjolras’s golden curls. Enjolras wiped a tear and spoke back, “You have so much to live for, I promise.” 

“Because I loved you. And if you, of all people have no faith in me or anything I believe in, then there is nothing left for me. I love you, Grantaire.” He paused. “Or, I thought I did.” 

The first thing Grantaire noticed was the complete absence of anything but utter sadness in his eyes. No fire. No passion. No defiance. Just one whirlpool of despair. He can see every emotion the other man is feeling swirling around in his eyes, tormenting him, he breaking him. His eyes don’t burn so brightly that people can almost see the world he longs for in them. Instead the blue is not the blue of icy flames, but the blue that is desolate sadness, glassy from the tears. He realises what is about to happen a second too late. 

His grip on Enjolras’s arm had slackened, and in that time, Enjolras had already broken free, headed back towards the bridge. 

He screamed at him , 

“ENJOLRAS, NO!” 

But it was too late.

He was gone.

Just like that 

A flash of red and gold before all of the colour is drained from his world.

Enjolras jumped in front of the traffic.

Enjolras ended everything because of him.

He had loved him. Despite Grantaire mocking his ideals and his cynicism, the fiery leader had always loved him.

And now it was too late.

“Grantaire?” Someone shouted. It sounded like Combeferre. A car door slammed. 

“Grantaire, where’s Enjolras?” 

“Who just fucking jumped?” 

“Grantaire, what have you  _ done _ ?” 

Grantaire doesn’t look over the bridge.

He just waits as his world turns black.


	2. Chapter 2

Grantaire didn’t go to the funeral. 

How could he? Knowing that it was his fault, knowing that it was his words that destroyed Enjolras. 

And in any case, he was sure the rest of the abc wouldn’t want him there. If it had been any of them, he surely wouldn’t have. 

The Musain didn’t feel like home anymore. There were still papers with Enjolras’s cursive writing scattered on the tables and notebooks with his name on them. There were still pens and even his watch lying around, untouched. He realised he must have left his watch in his coat pocket, which he’d forgotten on the night, and someone had taken it and placed it on the side as a memorial. 

Either way, it hurt like hell to look at. 

If was still as if Enjolras should arrive any minute now, muttering something about school because  _ Combeferre, have you  seen  _ _the amount of work Professor Javert gave me?_  
  
He should be slightly late, as usual, and then shrug off his faded old red jacket that once belonged to his grandfather and complain about the cold. 

(Was he wearing that jacket when it happened? Grantaire can’t remember, it’s all just a painful blur and all he can see is the pain in Enjolras’s eyes.

Those eyes haunt him. 

They’re there in his dreams, staring straight at him. And he can never decide which is more painful to relive; the empty numbness of that might, reminding him of what became of someone so unconditionally selfless, or the fires of passion that used to burn in them. 

The fire that  _ he  _ put out).

And then Enjolras should give the most beautiful speech, his words making their way into people’s hearts. His eyes should light up and his hands should gesture wildly around because  that’s what he _did_! And Grantaire should interrupt him and criticise him, but Enjolras knew he wasn’t being serious, that he did believe in him really. 

He knew that, didn’t he? 

He didn’t know that. 

Because when Enjolras asked him, perhaps when he was trying to decide whether or not he had reason enough to stay, Grantaire hadn’t said he did. 

“ _ Do you?”  _

_ “I don’t know know.”  _

And so Grantaire waits. He waits in the corner of the room with a nearly empty bottle of wine on the table. 

But he doesn’t come. 

Of course he doesn’t. 

But it still doesn’t feel real. 

The Musain is filled with a deep sadness that can’t be described. It’s the type of sadness that overwhelms you, buries itself deep in your soul and stays there. And it’s not just the absence of Enjolras; it’s the complete vacancy of light and hope that he would bring. 

Although, he  _ was  _ the light. He was the heart and soul of the Cause. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~. 

There’s a picture of Enjolras on the wall now: he’s laughing, his head thrown back and his golden curls bouncing around his jaw. The person next to him has been cropped out of the photo and that hurts Grantaire because it’s not what Enjolras would want! He’d want a picture of all of them.

Together. 

Together? The group is falling apart. Joly and Bossuet have already moved away, Jehan in the process of it. Grantaire barely sees Courfeyrac smile anymore and he hasn’t seen Combeferre in weeks. 

He knows what they’re all thinking;  _it’s Grantaire’s fault. He’s the one who did this to him_ _._

And of course it’s all over the news; Enjolras was well know for his rallies, they were peaceful, people agreed with him. There’s pictures of him in the papers with captions make his heart twist with pain. 

Things like ‘ **Leader of Les Amis Tragically Takes Own Life’** or ‘ **Forever In Our Hearts’.**  
  
But how can he be? 

They didn’t know him. They knew  _of_ him, but that’s not the same! They can’t miss someone and grieve for someone they didn’t know. They can’t feel the gaping hole in their chest or the numbness that promises life-long guilt and regret: things they should have told him long ago. They just  _ can’t _ . 

Nobody matters in life. No one pays attention to you, nobody cares to stop and just look. Look at the people, at the places, at the things you could be changing. But then suddenly, someone dies. And everybody knows and everybody misses them. But not properly. Not really. 

They get flowers off of Enjolras’s parents, who pretend that they cared about him. They don’t. Enjolras said that himself. A big bouquet of sunflowers and tulips, with a card that reads _‘_ _ our Angel _ _’._ And Grantaire knows that they mean well-he was their son, after all- but he doesn’t know when the last time they visited was. When they told their only son “ _Well_ done!” 

If they had, they’d have known he doesn’t like those flowers. 

Didn’t. 

Didn’t like those flowers. 

They come and go dry-eyed, and Grantaire hates them for it. 

It’s the Christmas holidays so Grantaire has returned home for a while. He’s glad, glad to be away from the stress of work and revision and exams. Although it would be a distraction from the constant pain and sorrow, Grantaire doesn’t think he would be able to face the staring and muttering behind hands. The news would travel fast, after all. 

He doesn’t go to see his parents. 

He doesn’t go to see his friends. 

Instead he visits Enjolras’s grave. Everyday. He leaves more flowers and more paintings. Sketches of him in all his glory, notes of apology that will never be read and never be accepted, paintings of all of the Les Amis de L’ABC. Before it all happened, of course. Before they all left. 

Enjolras wanted to die as part of something bigger, something that he would be remembered for.

Well, at least he’ll be remembered. 

A leader who takes his own life isn’t something to be easily forgotten. 

And Grantaire would be lying if he said he hasn’t thought about suicide. But he can’t do that to his friends, not after all of this. Friends? They’re not his friends. They hate him and they have every reason to; they could beat him and yell everything that came to mind at him and it still wouldn’t be enough It would never be enough But they wouldn’t do that. They aren’t like himself; they’re selfless and determined and deserve the world. Just like Enjolras did. Did. He can’t get used to that. But anyway, then people would forget about the Leader in Red. 

Not that anyone would give a shit about  _ his _ death. He just doesn’t want anyone to forget. 

And yet at the same time, he wishes he could draw the shutters and close out everybody else. Every person who pretends that they cared about him. He just wants to be left alone. 

He doesn’t deserve that. 

The bridge where he died is covered with red roses and cockades, cards that say he’ll never be forgotten. He hasn’t laid anything down there yet and he knows it makes him look like a terrible person, but he can’t. He can’t go back there without seeing everything from that night weeks ago replay. 

At least there are roses. He loved roses. It’s bittersweet. 

He didn’t deserve this. None of it. 

But at least now he couldn’t hurt. 

At least now  _ Grantaire  _ couldn’t hurt him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked for a second chapter and I was debating it anyway so....
> 
> I’m sorry it’s no happier than the first...?


	3. Chapter 3

Five years ago, Enjolras killed himself. 

Four years ago, Grantaire moved out of Paris and halfway across the country to escape everything. 

For a year he’d stayed where he was, keeping his head down and avoiding his old friends at all costs. Occasionally, he’d see someone and his heart would pang painfully. If they noticed him, they would look away, the hurt obvious. And if they didn’t, Grantaire would just walk away, desperate toescape. 

So he ran. 

He packed up his clothes and sold his apartment within the week, and a few days later he was hiding out a few hours away, trying to keep his mind from wandering back to that night all those years ago. 

But he couldn’t stay away forever. 

Eventually he knew he would have to return, even if only to visit Enjolras’s grave one last time. To say goodbye for real, and not have to look back. 

And even in the years he’d been away he’d not found a partner, or even been in a relationship. The one person he’d loved, the one person he’d lost, was dead and practically by his own hand. 

He wasn’t sure if he’d become incapable of love or if he just wasn’t letting himself. Either way, he couldn’t do it. Perhaps Enjolras was his soulmate, perhaps there was no other person out there for him. 

And he was okay with that. 

But now he was back. 

Now he was back and the memories where sharper than ever. 

Every footstep he took back into Paris made him remember what he used to know. 

He passed the city square; the place where that rally, the one he yelled at Enjolras about, the one he never got to attend was held. Combeferre and Courfeyrac had taken over for him that day. And despite it all, Grantaire hadn’t gone. He’d seen it from his apartment window, made direct eye contact with some of them. They’d noticed him but said nothing. 

Halfway through a speech, a speech he realised Enjolras had written, Courfeyrac had broken down and been unable to keep talking. Grantaire did that to him. 

He did that to all of them. 

He passed his old apartment; it was redone now-the peeling paint no longer, well peeling, and a new door had been installed. The flowers he’d used to try grow were gone, of course they were, and in their place was a patio with a table and chairs. 

It didn’t look like his apartment anymore. 

And that was because it wasn’t, he reminded himself. He’d left. He didn’t have a home here. 

And lastly, and most painfully, he stopped just short of The Musain. 

It looked no different; still with the same mismatched chairs and tables scattered around and, fuck, the table right in the middle where Enjolras used to sit. Or stand, sometimes. He’d stood on it  _ that  _ night. 

All he’d wanted to do was go home, clear his mind, and had Grantaire let him do it? No. No, of course he hadn’t. He’d prodded at him, provoked him. And Enjolras hadn’t even snapped back once. It was so clear now, so clear how tired he was. How tired he was of everything. 

He didn’t stop by Enjolras’s grave yet. 

Because when he did, he knew he would break down and not be able to return. He wouldn’t be able to see Paris again for a long time, until he was ready. And...well, he wasn’t expecting the abc to still be around. He knew there were occasional protests and rallies but they were held all over the world now. He didn’t think they still lived here. 

But at the same time he still wished he could get one last glimpse of them; even through a shop window. He wouldn’t say hi, he didn’t want to cause them more pain, but he might catch their eyes. He might nod and leave, smile sadly. 

Or perhaps he wouldn’t let them know he was here at all and would have to suffice for just one glance of his old friends, his old family, his old life. 

He had booked a hotel from across the road. It was...expensive, that’s what it was. But it was nearest to the Musain and he just wanted to be able to see it out there on the Parisian streets for at least a night. 

And upon deciding he had nowhere else to go for the day, he thought it might be best to just retire for the night. 

Now, he’d had this idea in his head that it would be best to dress formally...to honour Enjolras’s memory. And ‘formally’ had consisted of a white shirt and black trousers, so it wasn’t all that of a surprise when a hotel employee mistook him as a worker and quite unceremoniously pushed a tray on wheels that held a remarkable wedding cake and pointed at the elevator. 

“Valjean asked me to bring this up to the bridal suite-room _**1832**_ -but I’ve got about a hundred things to do. Can you do it?” He assumed Valjean was in charge of how things ran around here, although he really didn’t have a clue who he was. He wasn’t given much time to respond before the man looked at rather strangely. 

“What are you waiting for? We don’t have all day. Go.” 

Grantaire just sort of nodded, rushing off into the elevator before anyone could realise he didn’t in fact work there and be saved a whole lot of embarrassment. 

The journey up was uneventful. Nobody stopped the elevator and he didn’t have to speak to anyone he didn’t know. Which was relieving, especially when he wondered what would happen if that Valjean guy showed up and he would have a lot of explaining to do. 

So he was more than relieved when he finally stepped out, heading towards the door at the end of the corridor that read **1832**

He stood outside for a minute, calming the jittery feeling in the pit of his stomach. Which was strange actually, but he had this weird feeling feeling. It wasn’t dread, it wasn’t like...it wasn’t like then. It was more like anticipation. 

He knocked on the door, telling himself he was being stupid. There was nothing to worry about. 

“Hi, hello, I’m not sure how to-“ he looked up. 

And his heart promptly jumped out of his chest. 

“Grantaire?” 

“Combeferre?” 

And Combeferre immediately slammed the door shut in his face. 

Well. He did deserve it, he supposed. 

But he still had that fucking cake. 

So he knocked again, this time very aware of what causing those nerves. 

This time when the door opened, he looked a little more sheepish. But he still said nothing. 

Combeferre looked, well, exactly the same. Almost. 

His skin was smooth and miraculously unwrinkled, unlike Grantaire’s own that had been aged around the eyes in the time since he left. His eyes, if perhaps a little duller, still held that light. Again, the opposite of himself. His hair was perhaps the only thing different now; it was cut shorter, no longer bouncing around his ears and his glasses...his glasses were different too. They were red now. 

Red like-

“What’re you doing here?” Combeferre said, interrupting his train of thought. 

Of all the people he’d thought about looking for, meeting up with, Combeferre had been one of the last on his list. Partly because he was Enjolras’s best friend and partly because after Courfeyrac, Ferre was one of the people who had been the most angry at him. 

He had never been so scared of Courfeyrac in his life, five years ago. 

“I’m, uh...here’s your cake.” 

“My cake?” 

“Your wedding cake. I didn’t...I didn’t know you were getting, uh, who’s wedding is it?” 

Combeferre fixed him with a long, hard stare. His eyes were narrowed and he was looking at Grantaire as thought he’d forgotten he existed. 

“I didn’t know you worked here.” 

He pretended it didn’t hurt that Combeferre shut him down like that. Although it was to be expected. 

He shifted his weight between his feet uncomfortably. 

“I don’t.” 

“You don’t?” 

“No.” 

There was a pause and then Combeferre sighed, gesturing between the two of them. “Did you know we were...?” 

“No.” He said quickly, “I didn’t know this was your room. Sorry.” 

“Right. Okay.” 

He was completely ready to leave, in fact he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do more, but he picked up on Combeferre’s previous sentence. 

“Sorry, did you say ‘we’?” 

“What?” 

“You said...you said, ‘we were’...” 

Again, Combeferre looked at him strangely. He seemed as if he was about to close the door in his face again but was stopped as somebody appeared behind him and wrapped their arms around his neck. Then they looked up, and it was once again as if his heart jumped to the pit of his stomach. 

He stepped backwards, away from the person at the door. 

“Grantaire?” Courfeyrac said coldly, “What are you doing? Ferre, did you invite him?” 

“No. He’s...um...” he pointed to the cake. Courfeyrac ignored him. 

And Grantaire really wished his curiosity didn’t get the better of him, but he couldn’t help but blurt out-

“Invite me where?” 

Again, Courfeyrac ignored him but Combeferre sort of looked uncomfortable between the three of them before answering. 

“The wedding.” He said. “We’re getting married.” 

Oh. 

So it was  _ their  _ wedding. 

He supposed he should have realised that, or at least that it was Combeferre’s, from the second he opened the door. But in his defence, he’d not even been prepared to see one of his old friends, never mind two of them. 

“I didn’t know you were together.” He said quietly. Had they been before it all happened? Or was this a more recent thing? He’d always sort of thought that Combeferre had feelings for Enjolras but...well, maybe he had. Maybe he’d just been able to move on. 

“It happened a few months after...after...” Combeferre said slowly, the pain making his voice thick. He blinked a few times and looked away, apparently unable to carry on. 

Grantaire nodded, knowing what he meant. It made sense, he realised, that the two best friends of Enjolras needed each other once he was gone. 

He didn’t...fuck, he could feel his eyes welling up already. They hated him so much! And they should, they should but it still hurt. It still hurt to see two of the people he once would have called his best friends, his  family  look at him with such cold, dead eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” He said eventually. He knew that they would know he wasn’t talking about interrupting their day. They would know he was talking about it all, about everything. 

About shouting at Enjolras that might, spitting lies in his face. About being unable to stop him. Fuck! He should have been able to stop him and-and he didn’t. Jesus, he messed up everyone’s lives. About not apologising, not being able to for that year between Enjolras’s death and his cowardly fleeing the city. About showing up now, on Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s wedding day and bringing up painful, bad memories. 

It was bad enough that Enjolras was unable to attend. 

He didn’t need to remind them of it, although he was sure they wouldn’t have forgotten. 

“We don’t blame you for what happened anymore, Grantaire.” Combeferre said carefully, a finger brushing his own cheek as a tear slipped down. “We’re not childish enough to think Enjolras’s entire decision to...to end things depended solely on you. We can’t blame you.” 

That...wasn’t what he was expecting. And it was much more than what he deserved. It  was  his fault. It was. 

“Don’t...you don’t have to-“

“-I’m not angry anymore,” Courfeyrac said suddenly, his posture slumping a little. “I was...when I saw you just then I was, I’ll admit it. But it’s been five years. I can’t stay angry at you. We can’t pretend like it didn’t happen but we need to move on. It’s what Enjolras would have wanted.” 

Grantaire nodded, tears slipping silently down his cheeks. He appreciated it, but he didn’t believe them. He knew they were lying. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

“Grantaire, why don’t you...why don’t you come to the wedding tonight? Everyone will be there. I can’t remember the last time we all saw each other.” Combeferre said slowly, his eyes sliding sideways to check if what he was saying was okay with the both of them. Courfeyrac gave the smallest of nods. 

“Thank you. I appreciate it, I really do, but I can’t ruin your night. The others won’t want to see me. You two; you’ve been kinder than you need, I shouldn’t even be here. I don’t...I don’t think it’s best I come.” 

They didn’t protest and Grantaire knew he was right. 

They’d passed the point of truly mending things and they couldn’t expect anything of it now. He was leaving soon anyway. And this time he wouldn’t return. 

Because he wasn’t running away. When you have somewhere to go, you can always change your mind if it doesn’t turn out to be the right place. But if you run...nowhere is ever good enough. Nowhere ever brings you peace. 

“I wish you the best of luck, I hope you’re happy together.” He said, his voice threatening to crack. “But I don’t think we’ll meet again.”   
  


  
  
~~~~~~~~

**  
Epilogue  **

The path to the graveyard was a familiar one beneath Grantaire’s feet.

It did make him think of those first few weeks when his vision would be blurred with tears almost every moment of the day but this time it was different. 

He knelt down in the grass, slightly damp from the winter weather and a wind blowing around his collar. The gravestone was understandably aged, a little crooked, but not much had changed. 

There were roses at the bottom, roses he assumed were out there the previous night by Combeferre and Courfeyrac, and moss had begun to creep up the edges. He’d been gone for so long now. Enjolras. God, how he missed him. 

He let a single tear dribble down his cheek, landing on the ground in front of him. And then he reached into his pocket and pulled out something that he’d been unable to let go of, something he’d not seen in a long time. 

It was a cockade pin, just smaller than the palm of his hand; blue at the center, white in the middle and red on the outside, carefully crafted to look almost like a flower. It was something that the revolutionaries that fought in the June Rebellion had worn, every one of them. Even if death, they had remained attached to their waistcoats and jackets and for some reason Enjolras had always loved it. 

He’d worn it every day, pinned to the breast pocket of his red jacket...

He’d left his jacket by the bridge that night, and at first Grantaire hadn’t understood why. He thought it was because he loved it so much he didn’t want it to be ruined but now he understood; even in death, the cockade remained attached. 

Well, his leader deserved to be reunited with it once again. 

With a trembling hand he laid it in front of the gravestone and sat back on his heels, fingers lightly tracing the edge of the stone. 

Enjolras; the love of his life. 

Enjolras; the leader of the people’s hearts. 

Enjolras; finally at rest. Thinking about it now, Grantaire didn’t think he’d grow to be old. He didn’t think he’d ever see his face aged with lines. He thought he’d be reunited with Enjolras much sooner than he thought. 

And despite it all, despite the pain and guilt, Grantaire smiled. 

“I love you,” he whispered into the early morning, “it’s only a matter of time.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I first wrote this almost a year ago now but I had a sudden urge to write one last chapter to finish it off 
> 
> Let me know if you enjoyed it :) 
> 
> Thanks <3

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooo
> 
> Someone asked for a second chapter and I was debating writing it anyway so here you go 
> 
> (I will warn you; it’s not much happier than the first) 
> 
> If you enjoyed this please PLEASE drop me a comment and let me know...? They make me really happy :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading


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